The Independent Worlds (The Sixteen Galaxies Book 2) Page 18
He watched as several tiny machines left the Independent Worlds ship and approached his craft.
“Please don’t be alarmed, Bryant,” Trestere said. “Kestil wanted me to make sure your ship is fully intact and capable of a run back with no risk. There is a lot riding on your success.”
“Understood,” he replied. “Well, thanks.”
The machines orbited his ship a few times and then returned to Trestere’s ship. “Everything is fine, Bryant. I’ve never seen a star-drive of such an old design before. But, your people have done a magnificent job of it. Enjoy the ride home.”
Trestere’s ship shimmered briefly and vanished. “I will, and thanks again,” Bryant called, but there was no reply.
16
Kestil’s base
David lay quietly in the middle of the little room. Kestil paced around the restraint bed they had David strapped to. “Well,” Kestil said, “what do we do with you now, hmm?”
“According to my current calculations,” David replied, “you get your AI to do its best to hack into my mind and thus theoretically gain access to the Entity.”
Kestil shook his head. “Well, your calculations are a bit off, to be frank. We already know the Entity has cut you off, David. On the upside of that, your friends really will never find us, now; something that was a concern, before.”
He walked up behind David and leaned over his shoulder. “Tell me, David, what do your calculations predict as to our chances of successfully entering your brain?”
“That depends. At the moment there is an unknown factor.”
Kestil stood upright and stared at the young man before him. “What unknown factor?”
“How much of its runtime it intends to dedicate to penetration of my mind, as opposed to the omnipresence it maintains on the global network. It cannot exert full pressure on me and stay on the web.”
Kestil blinked. ‘Is this true?’
‘It is’ the AI replied.
‘Why did you not advise me of this?’
‘You never asked.’ came the reply.
Kestil’s face reddened. “Okay, so how long if it runs at full capacity?”
“100% chance of success over a 76-hour period. It descends from there. 92.3% over 75 hours, 87.6% over 74 hours, and so on.” David replied. “Reduce the capacity dedicated to the task, and the time grows exponentially.”
‘He is right.’ the AI told Kestil.
Kestil scowled. ‘What about you maintain a classic architecture presence on the human network; just binary code? How much capacity would that take?’
‘Very little.’
‘Do it.’
Kestil rubbed his hands together. “Well, it looks like we’ve found a way to do both.” He patted David’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we shall be left alone. Your friends will never find us anywhere near quick enough to intervene.” He nodded to two men who waited in the doorway. “Get him connected up. The AI will keep me advised as to its progress. Keep him hydrated at all times.”
The men wheeled in a little trolley, and started to connect stick-on patches to David’s skull around the area of his frontal lobes. The patches were connected to a small box via thin cables. One of the technicians paused and said, “I’m afraid there will be some pain when these probes go live. They will extrude tendrils down into the brain itself, to increase connectivity.”
David just nodded and remained silent.
*****
Global News Update
“…After the successful maiden voyage of Vincent Technologies FTL spacecraft, plans are already in place for a flight further; right out of the solar system. Independent Worlds representative Kestil has applauded the development. In a press conference earlier today, he urged humanity forward, but underlined the need for global unification to properly address the planet’s needs. In a frank and open statement, he said, ‘Just as every race in the Independent Worlds does, mankind must accept responsibility for their homeworld. The planet Earth is very unique and special, and humanity must recognize that fact. Expansion into the cosmos is closely linked to a race’s ability to care for the planets it colonizes. Ruthless exploitation of any planetary body is simply not acceptable to the greater galactic community.’
“Meanwhile, anti-globalization protests continue to gain momentum around the world, despite increasingly aggressive countermeasures by authorities. Some governments, including that of the United States, have appealed to the United Nations for intervention to help stem the tide of violence sweeping across the globe.”
*****
New York City
Demery Donaldson watched the old lady shuffle into his army surplus store. He rolled his eyes and muttered to himself. They never bought anything, these old biddies. They just browsed for freaking hours, and you had to watch them the whole time, in case they were a klepto, or something. Still, they were less of a challenge than the damned kids he always kicked out as quickly as he could.
The old dear nodded to him and shuffled down a packed aisle of camping gear. He frowned as she headed for the rear of the store. Nothing back there but knives, crossbows and the gun racks behind the counter. He put down the pile of old magazines he was pricing and walked up behind her. “Can I help you ma’am?” he asked.
The old girl didn’t reply so he moved in closer and put a hand on her shoulder. As she turned to face him, he offered, “Excuse me, but you might be more interested-”
He shut his mouth when he felt a hard object poked into his waist. He looked down and saw a 9mm pointed at his gut.
“Not a word, son,” the old lady whispered. “Your camera still busted in here? Squeeze my shoulder twice for yes, once for no. You lie to me; I will kill you.”
He squeezed her shoulder twice. The gun disappeared and she pulled off her hat. “You really ought to get that fixed, Demmy.”
His eyes flew wide open and he gaped. “Holy cow, Mandy?!” He swept her up into his huge arms like she was a rag doll. “I ain’t seen you in ages!”
“Sshh! Not so loud,” she hissed. “And put me back down, you big oaf.”
Demery was a huge lump of a man; an ex-marine who literally owed Mandy his life. He set her down and waved a finger at her. “What the hell you come in here pointing a gun at me for?” he demanded.
“In case the camera was on, Demmy. I’m sorry, but if it was, I would have needed to make a run for it. I wanted to make it look like a robbery gone wrong and not give away that you knew me. Then you really would die.”
Demmy held up a hand. “Wait here for a second.” He lumbered over to the door and locked it, and flipped over the ‘Closed’ sign.
Five minutes later, the two were huddled in the little office out the back, two glasses and a whiskey bottle on the desk.
“So,” Demmy said, “what you neck-deep in this time?”
Mandy shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
He gave her a big smile. “Like I don’t watch every show you do. You’re wrapped up in this alien thing, ain’t ya?”
She laughed. “Well, that’s a bust. Yeah, I’m with the Nuthros guy, and the Sixteen Galaxies. They’re good people, and this Kestil is dangerous beyond belief. Look, Demmy, I have very little time, and I have a friend in real trouble. No weapon shipments go through the docks in this city that you don’t know about, even though I tell you time and again to get out of the trade. I need to know if there’s been any big deals headed out of town and to the west. If possible, I need to know what’s in them.
He rubbed his chin. “Well, nearly everything comes into the docks and gets sold right here. Most of it then goes out to sea again, headed for all sorts of places. Very little goes west; most guys buy what they need local, you know? There was an order of heavy gear that went out towards Arizona a while back; some M60s, two mini-guns and a couple of crates of ammo. Think that was for a Vietnam vet’s historical society, though. There was a big order went to North Dakota, but that was for that whack-job Isaac Gillingford. Ap
art from that, lots of smaller orders going to these anti-globalism guys. Mostly personal protection gear; some body armor, gas masks, and small crates of automatics; mainly 9mm Glocks and stuff like that.”
Mandy shook her head. “I’m talking about big contracts; assault weapons, handguns, ammo, belts, boots, camo gear; whole piles of stuff.”
Demery narrowed his eyes in thought. “Well, nothing lately.”
“Could be up to 6 months ago, possibly even longer.”
He snapped his fingers. “There wasn’t no shipment like that, but there was something else.” He rummaged in a deep drawer. He dug out paperwork, old gun magazines and newspapers. “Yeah, here it is.” He held a page up and passed it to Mandy. “Whole armory got rolled not twenty miles south of here; we’re talking CAR15 carbines, a few long-range rifles, sidearms, all-weather gear, night vision stuff, you name it.”
Mandy shook her head. “No, I remember that. Six days later they found it all in a different depot. Whole thing was a foul-up by army stores. Massive bun-fight in the pentagon and then it died out for lack of interest.”
Demery leaned forward. “Yeah, that’s what they want you to think. Word is that the whole deal went west; a private sale. Done through a government black department. Guy I know is a big conspiracy theory fanatic. He has filing cabinets full of paperwork on all sorts of stuff. He was wound up tight about this one. He thinks it went to some CIA backed terrorist group to do false-flag stuff right here in the US of A. It all got packed into shipping containers and trucked out past Pittsburgh.”
Mandy tapped her glass on the desk. “You know how far it went?”
Demery nodded. “He had some photos of the trucks the shipment was supposed to be on. They were snapped just outside Louisville, Kentucky. But he heard it ended up a lot further west; last seen on the interstate in Oklahoma somewhere.”
Mandy had just taken another swig of whiskey, and nearly spat it back out. “Oklahoma?!” She slapped the glass down on the desk. “Of course! Where else?!” She jumped up and gave Demery a big hug. “Thanks, Demmy, you’re a gem, you really are. Here, help me get this old lady stuff straightened; I gotta go.”
“Okay,” Demery replied, “you want I should call you a cab to get you to the airport?”
Mandy laughed and gave the big man a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t need a cab. I can get there a whole lot faster than any plane ever built.”
*****
Western Queensland
Garth walked into the main area where Nuthros, Ron and Jack were deep in discussion.
“Hey guys, I got a weird one; I need your help.”
“Of course, Garth,” Nuthros replied. “What is it?”
Garth held out a sheet of paper, with just one sentence printed on it. “Well, we just intercepted a text from one of Mandy’s burner phones to one of the dead drop numbers. It came through from a cell tower in New York.”
Jack grabbed the sheet and read the sentence off. “It’s a beautiful morning to be in a surrey with a fringe on top.”
Ron looked askance at Jack. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Jack held it out to him. “Not a clue. You?”
Ron frowned as he read it. “She lost the plot?”
They all had a look. “The guys in our room said they had no idea,” Garth told them. “It sounds like gibberish to me.”
Ron snatched the sheet back from Nuthros, who looked as perplexed as everyone else. He read it through again, and started to laugh. “Oklahoma,” he said. “Kestil’s base is in Oklahoma.”
They all stood and stared at him in silence. He smiled. “My folks loved their musicals. ‘Oh What a Beautiful Morning’, and ‘The Surrey With The Fringe On Top’.” He held out his hands. “No? Really? Come on guys, get with the program! They’re both songs from the musical Oklahoma!”
*****
Oklahoma Department of Libraries, Oklahoma City
“Excuse me ma’am,” the librarian said, “you’d find the computer a lot quicker, you know.”
Mandy kept her head down. “I’m afraid I’ve never made the change to the modern way of doing things, young man. But, thank you anyway.” She waited until he lost interest and wandered off. She pulled out the next map book. She’d been here for two solid hours, and didn’t have a lot to show for it. The second Demery mentioned Oklahoma, Mandy remembered that was where John Crabtree lived. It stood to reason Kestil had simply set up shop at John’s place when they were stranded on the Earth together.
She’d done a search for the name Crabtree, but there were hundreds of them. Turned out the name Crabtree was common in this state. Mandy smirked despite her frustration. Lots of inbreeding in the Crabtree household, obviously. She’d checked obituaries, crime reports, public housing records, birth records, wedding announcements and anything else she could think of. There was plenty of John Crabtrees, but no mention of the one she knew. Why couldn’t his parents have named him Wilberforce, or Cuthbert? Looking for a John was needle-in-a-haystack stuff. She rubbed the back of her neck.
She had a sudden thought; one of those true kick-yourself-in-the-butt moments. The bar where they’d got the footage of Kestil and John’s first meeting. It stood to reason John didn’t live far from there. She searched her mind for the name of the town. She couldn’t recall it, but she knew the bar was called the something Hog Bar and Grill. She cursed under her breath. Why did it have to be the first word of the name that she couldn’t remember? Then it came to her; Rampaging, that was it. The Rampaging Hog Bar and Grill. Five minutes search in a telephone book and she had a town; Cutlass Creek, Oklahoma State. She went to the ladies’ toilets and pulled out another burner phone.
*****
Kestil’s base
“How has he held up so far?” Kestil asked the attendant responsible for David’s health.
“I have managed to keep him lucid, but I’ve let his energy reserves run right down. He’s had some water, but little else, so far. His strength is remarkable; most people would have died by now. His brain is under incredible pressure from the AI, but he shows no acknowledgement of pain. He’s had no sleep for 37 hours, and his body is literally consuming itself to keep him alive. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Kestil nodded. “Keep up the good work, I shall check on the AI’s progress.” He headed for the doorway to the little room where David was, but he was pulled up short by a tone in his ear he knew only too well. He cursed his rotten luck, and portaled up to his office.
Once in his office, Kestil shut the door and pressed a key on his private console. A small hologram of Prestern appeared. “Greetings, my boy, greetings. How is the Starchild? Has your AI penetrated it yet?”
“Not yet, I’m afraid, but it’s only been 37 hours. By his own reckoning, it will take 76 hours, maybe one or two less.”
“Well,” Prestern replied, “whatever you do, don’t damage it. The covert transport is enroute and will be in orbit in 48 hours’ time; you should have gotten what you need before then. Just don’t kill it, whatever you do. Access for your AI is secondary to my needs here; remember that.”
Kestil gave a small bow. “I understand, of course. I will ensure the Starchild is not at risk of death. I really want my AI to get in, though; the knowledge and technology in that head will make my AI a formidable opponent here on Earth. I’m tired of Nuthros and his interference. With the Starchild’s data, my AI will make the Earth a complete no-go zone for Truly and the Entity.”
“Indeed,” Prestern said. “And when I get it here, it will make my creation unstoppable. The entire universe will be a no-go area for the Sixteen Galaxies. I shall wait to hear from you when the Starchild is transferred to the transport.”
Kestil cut the link and headed down to David’s room again. ‘Report your progress.’
‘No progress, as yet. I am analyzing the code of the protection matrix; it is rewriting itself constantly. I am yet to establish the patterns within the shift. Until I do that, I have no progress to
report. The runtime dedicated to binary protection of the human network may be small, but it would increase my chances slightly. It would be better used on the Starchild.’
‘No. With an unprotected network, Nuthros and his team could find us.’
‘I can deal with any serious threat to our perimeter.’
‘I said no.’
‘Very well.’
*****
Global News Update
“…US President Michael Maitland threw the switch today which onlined the very first Vincent Generator. The president arrived amid heavy security. Although the Letterbox Sniper has not carried out an attack for over two months, the US president is a priority target for anti-globalism protesters, who have vowed to stop the integration process ‘by any means necessary’.
“Meanwhile, wildcat strikes by hundreds of thousands of civil service employees across Europe are having a severe impact. With tens of thousands of civil service jobs rumored to be under threat from the proposed global integration, workers are determined to fight the changes. The transport industry is up in arms, as rumors of a global transportation system that would mean thousands of jobs lost continue to spread. In France, dozens of roads were blocked by protesting bus drivers. While in Italy, train drivers unintentionally put paid to a planned anti-globalization rally by calling a strike just four hours before the event was to begin. Calls are being made for better coordination between strikers and protesters after the mix-up.”
*****
Cutlass Creek, Oklahoma State
A small cloud of dust fell from the bell above the door when Mandy entered the little town’s general store. She sneezed as gently as she could. The last thing she needed was for her wig to fall off. Light fought its way through the dirty windows and seeped into the dark room in a very limited fashion. Mandy could barely see the back of the store from the front.
“Most folks use the side door; sorry about that.” Mandy saw a heavyset woman in her forties approach the counter from a room out the back. The woman wiped her brow with a rag. “How can I help you?”